Chapter 5

RAIN'S POV

Twenty minutes later, the door creaks open.

I lift my head instantly, heart kicking up. The moment I see him—my husband, my storm, my everything—stepping in with his shoulders slumped and his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, I finally breathe. My whole chest expands like I'd been holding it in all day. He's fine. He's home.

I stretch my hand out without a word, and he doesn't hesitate. He practically jogs across the room like he missed us just as much, like the weight on his back only grows heavier the longer he's away from me. He kisses me hard, forehead to lips to cheek, warm and desperate.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his palm cupping my jaw. "I'm so sorry."

I part my lips to answer, to tell him it's okay, that he's here now, that I'd wait a thousand nights if it meant this but then a sleepy little voice cuts in between us.

"Dada?"

Kaia. Curled in my lap, blinking herself awake, her voice sticky with sleep.

Phi freezes for a second, then softens instantly. He kneels at the edge of the bed beside her, brushing her curls from her face like she's made of glass. "Hey, princess," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

She sniffs, half-awake and still holding her bunny. "You said you'd tuck me in."

"I know, baby," he says, voice breaking around the edges. "But I'm here now, yeah?"

Kaia nods sleepily and holds her arms out. He gathers her up from my lap like she's his salvation, cradling her to his chest as she burrows into his neck, whispering, "I missed you."

He closes his eyes and holds her tighter. "I missed you too, Tiger. So much."

And I watch them—my whole heart wrapped up in their embrace—and I think, this is what love looks like. This is what coming home means.

Then Kaia, in that soft, sleepy voice of hers, says, "We cooked for you, Dada."

I'm about to gently interrupt—to tell her that he's had a long, brutal day and probably won't want to eat anything right now. But before I can, Phi shakes his head, eyes meeting mine in that quiet way that says let me do this. He turns to her, presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Oh?" he says with a smile, "Well then, Dada has to eat a little, doesn't he?"

I can see the exhaustion in his posture, in the shadowed curve of his shoulders, but he stands anyway. Holds her close. Carries her down to the kitchen he hasn't been on the edge of collapse all day. I follow quietly, my chest warm and aching in equal measure.

In the kitchen, I plate a little of the dinner we made—just enough. I warm it while Kaia gets settled on his lap again, watching him like a hawk for his reaction. He takes a bite, hums so dramatically I nearly laugh, and then moans like he's tasting the food of the gods.

"Best food I've had all year," he says, mouth still full.

Kaia squeals with laughter, smacks his chest gently with her tiny hand, and says, "Dadaaa!"

And I swear, I watch something shift in him. That weight, the exhaustion, the tension from the day—it doesn't vanish, but it lessens. His shoulders drop. His expression softens. His hand comes around Kaia's back, patting gently as he kisses the top of her head.

Just like that, he's earned her forgiveness.

And mine too. Not that he ever lost it.

I step in beside them and slide my fingers through his hair. He looks up at me, eyes full of gratitude and something quieter, deeper.

"I'm glad you're home," I whisper.

"Me too," he murmurs, then leans into my touch. "So damn glad."

After dinner, she's finally slowing down. Her eyelids flutter a bit as she leans into Phi's chest, worn out from the spa day and the wait and the joy of having him back. She's full of food and love and her heart's been mended.

Just as we're about to head back upstairs, Phi leans down and whispers, "Wanna sleep with us tonight?"

Kaia's eyes snap open like it's Christmas morning. "Sleep over, Dada?"

He nods, brushing her curls off her forehead, "Something like that."

She nods so fast her curls bounce, and he chuckles—quiet and warm, with a soft glint in his eyes. We go back up as a family. Home. Safe. Whole.

In our room, Phi slips into the bathroom to shower while I change Kaia into softer PJs and get her nestled between our pillows. I pull the covers up to her chin, and she looks up at me, eyes already half-lidded.

"I'm glad Dada's home," she whispers, fingers curled in the sheets, "and he's tucking me in."

I smooth a hand over her curls, kissing her temple. "Me too, baby."

She turns toward Phi's empty pillow, voice even softer now. "Dada always keeps his promises."

My throat tightens.

He does. Even when it's hard. Even when he's exhausted or bleeding or burning the world down for us, he keeps them. Every single one.

Phayu's POV

I take the fastest shower known to man. The day is still on my skin—dust and tension and city sweat—but I scrub it all away like it's never happened. I towel off, throw on a soft white t-shirt and grey pajama pants, and step back into our bedroom where my entire world is waiting in bed.

Kaia's trying. I can see it in the way her lashes flutter and her mouth curls into a sleepy pout. She's holding on just for me. My little tiger. She's already curled close to Rain but her eyes are still searching for me the second I walk in.

I slip into bed behind her, on my side, and like instinct, she shifts. Her little body turns into mine like I'm the moon pulling her tides. I wrap an arm around her and pull her close, my hand resting gently on her back as she tucks herself into my chest.

"I'm home now, princess," I murmur into her hair, kissing the top of her head, "You can go to sleep. I love you."

Her voice is a breath, barely a whisper, "Love you too, Dada."

And just like that, she lets go. Her body goes soft in my arms. Out like a light.

I hold her, breathing her in. My daughter. My heart. I look over her head and meet Rain's gaze across the pillows. He's already smiling at me like he's been watching the whole time. I mouth thank you to him.

For this. For her. For us.

And then I close my eyes. Wrapped in warmth. In peace. In everything I fight for.

RAIN'S POV

The next morning, we don't move.

Not really.

Kaia's the first to stir—tangling herself across both our bodies, burrowing into whichever parent gives her the most warmth. She lands on Phi's chest this time, sprawled like a kitten, and I hear his sleepy rumble of a chuckle, low and deep beneath her ear. I stay curled into his side, one leg thrown over his, my fingers lightly tracing the ink on his forearm.

No rush. No demands. No phone calls.

I told Win last night. No one disturbs us today.

Not after yesterday. Not after the way Kaia clung to her dad when he came home. Not after I had to hold her while she tried to be brave. Today is for healing.

She yawns dramatically, mumbling something about pancakes and how papa promised, and I groan because she's right—I did promise. Phi stretches beneath us both like a big cat waking from a nap, tight muscles shifting under the cotton of his shirt, and says, "We can order. Or..." he raises an eyebrow at me, smirking, "You want to wear matching aprons again?"

Kaia gasps like I just suggested we fly to the moon. "YES! Matching aprons and chocolate chips! And whipped cream!"

I lean up on one elbow and sigh theatrically. "You're both very high maintenance, you know that?"

But I'm already smiling. Because it's this. This quiet morning. This messy, chaotic, silly little family we've built. And later tonight she'll be off to her grandpas—spoiled senseless by her "glam-pas" as she calls them and we'll have the house to ourselves.

But for now? We stay in bed a little longer. Wrapped in tangled sheets and sleepy kisses and soft laughter. Healing. Together.

...

After breakfast—after flour in our hair, sticky syrup kisses and Kaia insisting that her pancake had a heart shape even though it absolutely did not—we change into our swimwear and head out back.

The pool glitters under the sun, crystal blue, like something out of a luxury magazine. Which makes sense, since Phi designed it himself.

I stretch out on the lounge chair, sunglasses on, a fresh towel under me, iced drink in hand. I don't plan on moving.

Kaia's squeals pierce the morning air.

Her dada has already abandoned any sense of calm—he's in the water with her, shirtless, tattoos on full display, muscles glistening from the pool as he tosses her into the air and catches her with that impossibly focused precision that never falters, even when he's playing.

"Again!" Kaia screams, water flying from her curls.

Phi grins, cocky and soft all at once. "Again? You sure, tiger? Dada's strong but you're growing wings."

She throws her hands up. "I want to fly!"

He throws her higher this time, and I flinch even though I know he's never dropped her once in five years.

They're a menace together. Chaos wrapped in affection.

I shake my head and smile, watching as she wraps her arms around his neck and he spins them both underwater, surfacing with her clinging to him like a baby monkey. My sunbathing is now background noise to their joy. I wouldn't trade the sound for anything.

Phi looks up at me, eyes dark under the sun, wet hair slicked back, holding our little girl close.

"She's trying to drown me," he calls.

"You deserve it," I answer easily, sipping from my drink. "She's only five. Wait till she's ten."

Kaia giggles and splashes him in the face again.

He takes it like a champ, mouth twitching in mock betrayal. "You're both against me."

I shrug lazily. "You're outnumbered."

He kisses her cheek anyway. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Neither would I.

...

Later, I sit cross-legged on the floor of her closet, a pile of folded pajamas beside me and her sparkly pink duffel bag wide open. Kaia's already freshly showered, her curls damp and bouncing as she bounces around the room far too excited for someone who's only going to be gone for a night.

She's shoving everything into the bag. And I mean everything.

"Princess," I say gently, watching her add her second stuffed unicorn on top of the third, "you already have your own closet and your own toys and your own room at grandpa's. Remember?"

"But what if Fluffums gets lonely?" she says, eyes wide and serious as she clutches a stuffed rabbit now. "And Bunbun wants to come too! And I need three pajamas. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

She thinks for a second, then shrugs. "A pajama emergency."

I press a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing.

I lean over and start pulling out duplicates while she's distracted. "It's only one night, baby. You're coming home tomorrow."

"But I'll miss you and Dada," she says, quieter now.

My heart softens immediately. I pull her into my lap and kiss the top of her head.

"And we'll miss you too," I say, rocking her slightly. "But you're going to have so much fun with Papa and Grandpa Porsche, right?"

She nods slowly, then sniffs and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. "Papa makes the best pancakes."

"He really does."

"And Grandpa lets me paint his nails."

"That too."

She brightens again. "Okay, but I'm still bringing Bunbun. Just one emergency friend."

I nod solemnly. "Approved."

She jumps up again, newly motivated, stuffing her toothbrush and her favorite lip balm into a little pouch, and I watch her, this tiny whirlwind of light, trying to pack her whole world in a duffel bag just to survive a single night away.

She really is just like me.

Phayu's POV

I lean against the doorway of the closet, arms crossed, watching the chaos that is my daughter packing for a single night at her grandfather's house like she's going on tour. Rain's sitting on the floor, trying to make sense of the madness, but he's smiling. Always smiling when it comes to her.

Kaia looks up and sees me and beams, "Dada! Look, I'm taking Bunbun, Fluffums, my sparkly socks, and the purple pajamas, not the blue ones 'cause they itch."

I nod seriously, "Solid choices, tiger."

Then she stops, hands on her hips, staring at us both. Her tone goes suddenly very serious. "What are you and Papa going to do now that I'm not home with you?"

Rain and I exchange a look. I raise an eyebrow. Rain tilts his head and shrugs slightly like you take this one.

I walk into the room, kneel beside her, and gently tap her nose. "We're going to be too busy missing you, that's what."

Rain chimes in, from behind her, "We'll cry. A lot. Probably hug each other and sob."

Kaia giggles and throws herself into my arms, and then over to Rain's lap, and we're both holding her like she's not just going away for a single night to a house she considers her second home.

"We'll miss you so much, tiger," I whisper into her hair. "But you're gonna have fun, and we'll see you first thing in the morning, okay?"

She nods, and suddenly I don't want to let her go either.

RAIN'S POV

Kaia's squeals echo down the hall before we even see her. "Grandpaaaa!" she calls out, her voice high and delighted as she throws herself into papa's arms the moment he steps through the door. He catches her with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times. His shirt's crisp, his slacks immaculate, and his smile that familiar, composed calm that somehow makes every room feel safer. Kaia's never once doubted how much he adores her.

I lean into Phi without thinking, head resting on his shoulder as we both watch her cling to her grandfather like she hasn't seen him in weeks instead of just a few days. "She really loves him," I murmur.

Phi kisses the side of my head. "She's his favourite. No one else even comes close."

She's the only grandchild.

I hum in agreement, watching as Kaia starts chattering at full speed, no doubt already telling him about the spa, her nails, the sleepover plans, her entire suitcase—despite the fact she has a whole closet at their house.

Phayu's POV:

When Arm walks in, Kaia perched on his hip. Rain beams and steps into his arms. "Hi, Papa," he says, voice soft and full of that particular kind of warmth he reserves for his father. I nod at Arm in greeting. "Papa."

He gives me a faint smile and nods back, ever graceful, the very picture of poise in his light shirt and tailored slacks. Everything about him is elegance and polish, from the sweep of his hair to the shine of his shoes. He's a younger Rain in so many ways—serene, composed, breathtakingly beautiful. Only difference is, he's far scarier when he's pissed.

He carries Kaia like she's weightless, and she's talking his ear off, fingers already busy playing with the edge of his shirt like she owns it. I swear, the man lets her do anything. The last time they had a weekend together, he came back with pink glitter in his hair and floral nail stickers, unbothered and still more stylish than ninety percent of Bangkok.

Meanwhile, Porsche—the only one who can match Papa Arm's patience—has been teaching her surgery terms like she's going into med school next week. Kaia, ever diplomatic, says she loves us all very much, but she has to go with Papa Arm and Grandpa tonight. "So they won't be lonely."

Rain thanks her solemnly for her deep sense of responsibility.

"We'll pick you up tomorrow, princess," I say as I crouch to her level, brushing her curls back from her face.

She gives us both big, slightly sticky kisses, then plants her hands on her hips. "Okay. Don't forget what I told you."

"What was that again?" Rain asks, kneeling beside me.

"No fighting," she starts, ticking off her fingers like a list. "No being grumpy. Eat your vegetables. Go to sleep early—"

I exchange a look with Rain and we both try not to laugh.

"—and kiss each other goodnight or I'll tell Papa Arm."

"Yes, boss," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We'll be good."

She eyes me like she knows I'm lying.

Then she turns, all bouncing curls and glitter backpack.

Rain watches them go. I watch him.

Then Arm looks over her shoulder, meets our gaze, and gives a small wave before leading her out the front door with her overnight bag bouncing behind them. The house falls silent the moment the door closes.

Phi's arm slides around my waist. "We're alone," he says quietly, warm and full of promise in his voice. "That's your cue, Papa," he murmurs against my temple, voice low and teasing. "We've got the house to ourselves."

I glance up at him with a lazy smile. "So we nap for three hours and then binge a drama?"

His eyebrow arches. "I was thinking more of a date."

I laugh softly, tightening my arm around him. "What kind of date?"

He tilts his head and hums like he's pretending to think. "One where I spoil you rotten. Feed you something sweet. Then fuck you somewhere ridiculous. Kitchen island? Piano bench? Back patio?"

I groan. "You're unbelievable."

He leans down and brushes a kiss over my lips, just a whisper of a promise. "I'm in love. Let me be unbelievable for you."

I pretend to sigh, as if this isn't exactly what I want. I bite back a grin, tugging at his shirt. "You're sure you won't miss her too much?"

He leans in, mouth brushing my jaw, voice a low murmur. "I'll miss her terribly. But right now... I just want to spoil you. All night. However you'll let me."

God, I love him.

I lace my fingers with his. "Then take me on a date, P'Phayu. I'm yours."

Phayu's POV

After Kaia leaves—our whirlwind of joy and glitter and rules—we're left in the silence of a house that suddenly feels too quiet. Rain disappears into our closet and when he comes out, I almost change my mind about dinner.

He's in white. He doesn't wear anything else.

An open-neck silk shirt, soft and slightly sheer, tucked into tailored white trousers that make his waist look unfairly small. There's a sliver of his collarbone showing, his earrings catching the light, that delicate necklace with the little diamond drop I bought him for his last birthday resting against his throat. His hair's tied back like mine, lips glossy, lashes long and curling up toward the heavens.

My beautiful angel.

I'm in black. A matching contrast, as always—like a shadow drawn to his glow. I almost say fuck it, grab him, and bend him over the closest surface. But tonight isn't about that. Not yet.

Tonight, we're just lovers. No mafia empires, no weapons, no briefings. No sleepless nights keeping our kingdom from burning. Just him and me, like it was before we had Kaia, before our names were whispered with awe or fear. Just us.

I know he loves the life we built. He thrives in it, owns it, bends it to his will with a single look. But I also know there are moments when he needs this. My full, undivided attention. To feel like the center of my universe, which he is. Especially when he gets to dress up and I just watch him like a starving man.

So I take him somewhere he hasn't been in a while.

A private seaside property I keep off the books. Guarded and secluded, with a view of the sea so wide it looks like it could swallow the world. The moment we arrive, the breeze tangles his hair, and I see him relax without even realizing it.

The sun's dipping low when we sit down, the table perfectly set on the sand beneath a delicate canopy of white voile. A private chef greets us and disappears back to the open-air kitchen.

He's sitting across from me, one bare foot brushing mine under the table, sipping champagne like he's born for this.

I can't take my eyes off him.

"You're staring," he says, smiling into his glass.

"Of course I am," I murmur, leaning forward. "You look like a dream I don't want to wake up from."

He smirks. "Getting poetic on me?"

I grin. "Only for you."

He twirls his glass in hand and watches me with a softness that hits somewhere deep in my chest.

"Thank you for this, Phi."

I reach out, take his hand, and kiss his knuckles.

"Anything for you," I say. "Always."

Rain's POV

I missed this.

I didn't even realize how much until now, until his fingers are laced with mine and the ocean's at our feet, and there's nothing between us except salt air and time.

I mean, we live together. We sleep wrapped around each other most nights, Kaia sometimes between us, sometimes sprawled across me like a tiny dictator. We see each other every day. Talk. Touch. Kiss. Fuck.

But this... this is different.

This is him. Not Dada. Not the boss. Not the man people bow for or the one who disappears into danger with blood on his hands and a soft kiss on mine.

Just my Phi.

My husband. My lover. The man who listens when I don't even speak, who gives me what I need before I can ask.

Tonight's perfect. I'm still glowing from it.

He hasn't taken his eyes off me since I put on this ridiculous outfit—white silk that clings a little too well. I teased him that I wore it so he'd stare, but truth is, I wanted to be seen. I wanted to feel like this again. Desired. Treasured.

And god, does he deliver.

We already ate. Laughed. Flirted shamelessly like we were twenty and drunk in love. We even called Kaia before bed, the three of us tangled on one screen—her with glitter on her cheeks, yawning dramatically, already tucked into Papa Arm's arms. She told us not to misbehave. Phi promised her I wouldn't get too drunk. I promised nothing.

Now we're barefoot in the sand, the waves cool and foamy as they roll in, and I lean into his side with a soft sigh.

He squeezes my hand.

"You're quiet," he says.

I tilt my head up to look at him. "I'm happy."

A soft smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah?"

I nod. "I missed you. This you."

He stops walking. Pulls me in by the waist. His hands warm against the silk.

"I'm always yours," he murmurs. "In every version. But I like this one too."

I lean in, resting my forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I can feel him, solid and real, grounding me.

"You always know what I need," I whisper.

He presses a kiss to my hair. "Because loving you is the only thing I've ever done right."

I close my eyes, let the tide brush our feet, and whisper back, "And you do it so well."

I'm facing the sea, the wind catching at the ends of my shirt, the smell of salt thick in the air.

We play 20 Questions. It's silly. It's everything. Our ritual. We do it not just for fun but to stay in sync, to check in, to make sure the small things—favourite snacks, dreams, fears, music obsessions, pet peeves—don't get lost in the noise of our lives.

It always starts light. Always ends in something deeper.

Tonight, I lose. I always lose.

And before he can say anything about my punishment, I bolt—laughing wildly, barefoot in the sand, dress billowing as I run from him like he isn't built to chase me.

And he always chases me.

He catches me too easily. Arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me, spinning me, and we go down. But he's always thinking, even in that moment he twists at the last second, takes the fall on his back so I don't hit the sand, so my hair doesn't get tangled, so my outfit doesn't get ruined.

I land on top of him.

Breathless. Grinning. Pressed to the chest that carries everything I love.

His hand is already on my back. The other brushing hair from my face like I'm something precious. Like I'm his whole world.

I look down at him. And the love that breaks through my chest almost splits me open. My eyes sting. My smile wobbles.

I kiss him.

Once. Soft.

Twice. With a little tremble.

And then I whisper, "I love you so much, Phi."

His arms tighten around me. His eyes burn into mine. And I know he feels it too. Every bit of it.

...

The night was perfect.

We're in the car, heading home, hands tangled between us on the center console, my cheek aching from smiling so much, his thumb brushing lazy circles on my knuckles. We're full from dinner, full from laughing, full from us.

I can already taste the dessert waiting in our fridge, already feel the heat of him pressed against my back when he whispered I'm gonna eat it off you... slowly... every part of you.

Then...

CRACK.

Sharp. Sudden. Louder than anything.

My body jerks before my mind catches up.

Then another. And another.

Phi's hand is off mine instantly, already moving to the concealed holster at his ankle as the bulletproof windows shimmer under impact. The sound is deafening. Controlled chaos outside. Controlled fury inside.

"Fuck," Phi snarls. His jaw clenches tight as he ducks lower and puts a hand across my chest protectively. "They're ruining my fucking date."

My heart's pounding. But not from fear. Not yet. Not while he's looking at me like that.

He turns, eyes sweeping over me like a scan, checking for blood, for holes, for anything out of place. And when he sees I'm fine, he exhales once.

Then he locks eyes with me. Wild and calm all at once, a storm with a leash barely on.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice coiled like a loaded spring, "the guns."

I nod. No hesitation. My seatbelt's off, I'm already slipping into the back. I drop low, pop the hidden latch in the seat base and reach into the trunk compartment. Metal greets my fingers. Cold. Heavy. Familiar.

Two rifles. A set of handguns. Extra mags. Smoke and flash. All accounted for.

I toss the rifles to him, fast and clean.

He catches one without even looking.

"You okay?" he asks like we aren't being shot at. Like this is a conversation we've had a hundred times before.

I glance at him. His sleeves pushed up, veins prominent down his forearms, his jaw tight and his eyes burning.

I smile. "I'm okay. But I think we're gonna be late for dessert."

His mouth twitches, and it's not amusement it's fury with direction. "I'm gonna kill them all."

He flicks the safety off.

Then "Get in position, baby" his eyes meet mine again, and they soften just enough to be deadly—"we're gonna burn them all."

We move as one. Always.

I lower the glass on my side and hook the barrel out, bracing the butt of my rifle into my shoulder. The wind whips past me, fast and chaotic, and I don't even flinch when a shot slams into the bulletproof door. Phi drives like the car is an extension of his body—controlled fury and grace.

We trained for this. Planned for this.

I grab the flash bangs, yank the pin, and lob one hard out the window toward the car hugging our tail. The light detonates in a furious burst—white-hot and blinding. Their car swerves violently, tires shrieking, and veers off the road into a tree.

"One down," I call. "Two more full cars."

"Got it," Phi answers, voice low, steady.

I scan. Think fast. We need a better vantage.

"Roof," I say.

He nods, one hand flicking the switch. The sunroof slides open with a mechanical purr. I crouch and brace myself, gun ready.

"On my count, baby," he says, eyes cutting to mine.

I nod.

He lowers the glass on his side, snatches the rifle, and does what only Phayu can—gun in one hand, wheel in the other, swerving like a demon with a purpose.

"Three, two, one—now."

I stand, head out of the sunroof with my rifle.

He veers right, hard and calculated.

We shoot together.

Two weapons singing death into the dark. The rifles kick against my palms, but I'm steady. I aim straight for the driver of the frontmost car.

Crack.

A clean hit.

He slumps over the wheel, their car jerks, veers, and the one behind doesn't have time to react.

The collision is loud. Metal and momentum. Sparks and crunch.

Both cars flip and roll. Chaos in our wake.

I duck back into the car, breathing hard, adrenaline sharp in my mouth. Phi grips the wheel, eyes forward, but I see his knuckles go white, see the tension in his jaw.

I reach for him, brushing my fingers over the inside of his arm.

He exhales slowly. "You good?"

"Perfect," I say.

He finally spares me a look. The corner of his mouth lifts, just barely.

"They picked the wrong fucking couple to ambush."

He brakes hard, tires screeching as the car jerks to a halt.

"We need to make sure," I say, already reaching for the rifle again.

Phi nods once, jaw set like stone. We move in sync—him taking the left, me the right—stepping out into the night with that lethal calm only we know how to wear. He's in black, I'm in white, like fucking divine judgment descending.

The shots start almost immediately.

Pop—pop—pop.

From the wreckage. Survivors. Desperate or stupid, I don't know.

We return fire. Calm. Precise. Controlled chaos, our kind of dance.

But then, Crack. A sharp sting blooms across my forearm and I stagger back, breath caught in my throat.

"Fuck" It's not even the pain, it's the shock of it.

I stumble toward Phi and he's already there, pulling me behind the car door, shielding me with his body. His hands are on me fast, rough, yanking up my sleeve, eyes darting, assessing.

"It's just a graze," I say, my voice a little breathless. "Startled me, that's all."

He doesn't look up. Not yet. His fingers smear the blood on my arm, and something in him snaps.

I can feel it.

His energy shifts, heat crawling off his skin like smoke off an inferno.

I try to distract him, lighten the moment. "I actually liked this shirt, you know." I look down at the slow, blooming red on the fabric. "They ruined my favorite white."

That gets his eyes on me. His jaw clenches tighter, expression carved in fury.

"You'll get ten more," he growls. "After I burn every last fucker who touched you."

Then he stands.

" Stay here, baby."

And then he was gone.

Not gone, really. Just unleashed.

And what he does next isn't fighting. It's execution.

He doesn't roar or rage. He doesn't even look back. He just moves with the cold, terrifying grace of a man who's been wronged one too many times and now has blood in his mouth and vengeance in his heart.

And I sit there. Behind the open car door, hand clamped over the graze on my arm, breath shallow as I watch him.

Phi doesn't fight like a man with something to prove.

He fights like a man with something to protect.

Shots ring out. Screams follow. I don't flinch not because I'm not afraid, but because I know exactly what he's capable of. I've seen it before. But never for me. Never like this.

He moves like smoke, like death wrapped in black and muscle and glittering rage. Every bullet he fires lands true. Every man who dares raise a weapon falls.

Fast.

Brutal.

Final.

He doesn't stop until silence falls again. Until smoke curls in the air and the only thing left is him, standing in the center of it, chest rising and falling, his gun still warm in his hands.

Then he turns back to me.

Eyes wild. Heart in pieces.

And I realize...I'll never stop loving him, not even if it kills me.

Rain's POV

The door to our room has barely clicked shut behind us and I don't even wait. I'm on him in a breathless heartbeat, blood still dried and sticky on my skin, bruises blooming like ink, and I don't care. I need him.

Maybe it's the leftover romance of the night, the illusion of warmth and candlelight. Maybe it's the rush from escaping death by inches. Whatever it is, it's clawing at my throat, burning under my skin.

I shove him back with both palms pressed to his chest. His eyes go wide—just for a second—and then narrow in that way I love, that way that means he sees me, all of me. Wants me. All of me.

He barely blinks before his arms wrap around my waist, lifting me. My legs lock around his hips instinctively. My breath stutters. I bury my face in his neck and groan, "I need you, Phi. Now. Hard. Fast. Don't hold back."

He growls, low in his throat, his voice gravel and heat. "I was gonna seduce you properly after dessert, you know."

I suck his earlobe into my mouth, nip at it, whisper filth with my lips pressed to his skin. "We have all night."

I crash into his mouth, teeth and tongue and desperation "Please," I whisper. "I want you inside me. Now. I don't care if it hurts."

He tsks, dragging the pads of his fingers across my hips, my thighs. "Baby," he murmurs, eyes molten, voice low and cruel and tender all at once, "I plan to have you all night. I can't have you in pain before I'm done with you."

I whimper, biting back a sound between frustration and need. He's right, and I hate that he's right. "Then get me prepped," I snarl. "Fast."

Then he smiles.

That smile, the one that makes my stomach twist and my hole clench. He shoves me back onto the bed, and I spread my legs without hesitation.

Before I can even gasp, he's on me—lips crashing into mine, teeth grazing, tongue demanding. He tears my shirt open, rips the sleeves, doesn't stop until I'm bare and shivering under him, and then he pulls back just to look.

His eyes drink me in. My flushed skin, the bruises, the faint cuts. His jaw clenches. "You're beautiful," he mutters like a threat, like a promise.

I reach for his shirt but he yanks it off himself, then his pants, his briefs—his cock already hard, thick, flushed. I can't tear my eyes away.

"Phi," I breathe, "I want you inside me. Now. I don't care if it hurts."

"I'll make it hurt," he murmurs, kissing a trail down my throat. "But I'll make it good."

"Then do it now!"

My body is still sticky with sweat, dried blood, the remnants of tonight's fight. He kisses down my stomach, my inner thigh, eyes locked on me.

His eyes darken—glinting under the low light, and fuck, I know that look.

He kneels between my legs, spreading them wide with those rough, bloodied palms "Bossy tonight, aren't we?" he mutters, voice molten. "You trying to rile me up more?"

"I just need to be fucked" I hiss, writhing under his touch, "I'm so hard Phi, it hurts"

His nostrils flare. He dips his fingers between my thighs and groans low in his throat. "You're leaking, baby. Fuck. You were clenching on nothing waiting for me."

"Then stop talking and prep me."

That makes him chuckle—low, wicked, fond. "Such a fucking brat."

But he listens.

"Fucking love it when you're demanding," he growls, and then he spits onto his fingers, presses two in without preamble.

I arch and cry out, my back leaving the mattress. He's thick, rough, no warmup, just a sharp delicious stretch that steals the breath from my lungs. I'm already loose from how much I needed him tonight, how hard I was in the car just holding a gun with his voice in my ear.

"You were hard in the car," he mutters like he read my thoughts. "Were you leaking in those white pants, baby? Were you thinking about how I was gonna fuck you as soon as we got home?"

"Yes," I gasp, rocking against his fingers, chasing more. "Yes, yes, Phi, more—fuck, more."

I cry out, hips bucking. He crooks them just right, dragging over the nerves that make me see white, and then he spreads them, twisting until I'm gasping. He leans forward, kisses my knee, my thigh, all while his fingers work faster, stretching me mercilessly.

"Look at you," he murmurs. "Taking me so good. Just a little more—then I'll fuck you like you need."

"I need it now," I growl, frustrated and dizzy. "Phi—"

"I know, baby." He slides in a third finger and scissoring me open, murmuring, "You're perfect. You're mine."

"Then take me," I plead, voice gone raw. "Stop teasing. I need you."

And that's it. That's all it takes to break the last thread of his self-control.

His breath hitches. He pulls out his fingers and presses the head of his cock to my hole, watching me like a man starved.

"I fucking know."

And then he thrusts in.

No warning. No gentleness. Just a thick, perfect stretch that knocks the breath out of me.

I scream—my hands clawing at the sheets—and he groans above me like I just saved his life.

The stretch is brutal, overwhelming, and perfect. My thighs tremble. He doesn't give me a moment—he starts moving immediately, snapping his hips into me over and over again, brutal, relentless.

"You wanted this," he growls, pinning my wrists above my head. "You begged for it."

"Yes!" I moan, eyes glassy, mouth open as he fucks me into the mattress. "Please, Phi—harder—please—"

He bites my throat. "You're gonna break, baby."

"Then break me."

And he does.

He fucks me like it's a war and I'm the battlefield—claiming me, marking me, ruining me for anyone but him. And I let him.

"So fucking tight," he pants, hips drawing back and slamming back in. "Gripping me like a vice. You love this, don't you? Getting wrecked by me."

"Love it," I gasp, nails raking down his back. "Want it rough, Phi. I want your marks all over me—want to feel you tomorrow."

"You will," he promises, and fuck, I believe him. Because the way he's fucking me? Possessive. Wild. Like nothing else exists.

He grabs my wrists, pins them above my head, his mouth hot on my throat as he pounds into me—relentless, unyielding. Each thrust hits deep, shoving the air from my lungs, and I can't even speak anymore.

Just moans. Just yes. Just more.

"I'm gonna ruin you," he snarls, his voice right at my ear. "Make sure the next time you wear white, you feel me dripping out of you."

I choke on a moan.

"When for you baby, is going to be every. single. time" he punctuates with a thrust.

And he keeps going. Keeps fucking me into the mattress like it's the only thing he was made for.

"You were so fucking hot tonight," he growls, "blowing their fucking heads off like you were born for this."

I shudder under him. "You liked that?"

"I almost fucked you on the hood of the car."

That makes me whimper. My cock leaks against my stomach. "Fuck, Phi, don't stop—don't ever stop—"

He pounds into me faster. Each thrust hits that spot deep inside me that makes me see stars. His hand wraps around my throat—choking, claiming—and he stares down at me like I'm a religion he worships.

"I love you," he says through his teeth, "so fucking much, Rain. I would've torn the world apart if they touched you."

"They didn't," I pant, nails raking his shoulders. "You saved me. You always save me."

"Phi—" I gasp, choking on a sound that doesn't know if it wants to be a sob or a scream.

And he keeps going. Keeps fucking me like he was made for this. Like the only thing his body was designed to do was claim mine.

I choke on a moan. My whole body arches up, trembling, burning.

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, locking him in, and he grinds deeper, harder, snarling filth between each bruising thrust—

"You love this cock, don't fucking lie, look at you, baby, you're drooling—fuck, you're milking me"

"Phi" I cry out again, back arching, the pain from the graze on my arm fading into background noise under the overwhelming pleasure. My cock's leaking, trapped between our bodies, every drag of his abs against it another jolt of lightning.

I can't even breathe. My head's thrown back, his fingers digging into my hips, dragging me onto his cock again and again until I swear I can feel him in my stomach.

It's too much and not enough and I want more, more, more.

"Stretching so sweet," he pants, biting into my shoulder, licking it after. "So fucking tight. So mine. Say it."

"Yours," I sob, "I'm yours, Phi, always—yours—"

"Good fucking boy," he growls, and pistons even harder, dragging ragged moans from my throat as I splinter beneath him. "Come for me, pretty thing. Make a fucking mess all over both of us."

And I do.

With a scream, legs tightening, body clenching around him, I come so hard it stuns me, all over his stomach and mine.

He fucks me through it. Doesn't stop.

"I'm not done," he rasps, voice rough like gravel, like a threat. He pulls out, my body shuddering, twitching from overstimulation, but I don't have a second to breathe before he grabs my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed.

I gasp, trembling, my legs boneless, my head spinning but I don't resist. I never do. Not with him.

He leans down, tongue hot and filthy as he licks up my release from my stomach, trailing it up my chest, groaning like he enjoys the taste of me. He kisses me then, deep and messy, shoving his tongue into my mouth like he's reclaiming what he already owns.

The taste of me on his tongue, his hand in my hair, breath stealing what's left of mine.

I moan against him, hips jerking up weakly, needy despite the tremors still wrecking my body.

Then he flips me over.

Just like that.

I yelp, breath knocked out of me, and my cheek presses into the mattress.

Face down, chest against the sheets, my ass up—exposed. Bare. Used. Needy. He doesn't give me a second to think. Doesn't warn me.

He grips my ass hard enough to bruise, spreads me open, and I don't even get the chance to beg before he spits on my hole, and thrusts back in.

"Phi—!" I cry out, nails clawing the sheets, my back arching violently— fingers fisting the sheets. He sinks deep in one brutal stroke, and I swear I see stars. I'm too raw, too sensitive, still pulsing from the last orgasm. But he feels so good.

He fucks in deep, all in one stroke, and the stretch burns again, raw and wet and obscene.

"Yeah," he grunts behind me, already moving, thrusting into me like he never left, "that's it. You're still open for me. Still begging for more."

"Too much," I sob, voice cracking. I don't even know if I'm begging him to stop or keep going.

He leans over me, lips to my ear, voice low and dark and tender.

"Shhh," he growls, dragging his hips back only to slam forward again, forcing a sob from my throat. "You can take it. I know you can. You were made to take me like this."

He drives into me like he owns me. Like I belong to him. My body doesn't know how to refuse him. It opens up for him, stretches for him, begs for him.

He grips my hips and fucks into me with brutal rhythm, the sound of skin slapping, the slick of lube and spit and cum echoing through the room. I'm moaning helplessly, babbling things I can't remember, lost in the way he uses me.

"Be my good boy. You said you wanted everything, I'm giving you everything. We've got all night."

And I do. Like always. I take it because it's him. Because I asked. Because I need to.

My cock's already soft from overstimulation, but I feel myself twitch, leaking again, another orgasm threatening even though my body's given up. He doesn't stop. He keeps going. Uses me.

And I let him.

Because he's right.

I wanted this. I want this.

Him.

All of him.

He moves like a man undone, wild and precise, every thrust pushing me closer to some place I can't name. I feel the ache and the burn and the pleasure twisted into it, and still I beg for more.

"I wanted to romance you tonight," he growls. "Wanted to lay you down and worship you slow. But you—" He leans back and spits on my hole, again, as if I'm not already ruined, he thrusts deeper, and I cry out, "you want to be ruined. Used. Owned. You want to forget they tried to take us. You want to remember who you belong to."

"Yes," I choke, vision blurred from tears and bliss. "Yes, Phi—yes—"

He plants one foot on the bed, shifting his angle, forcing my spine into a deeper arch. The new depth knocks the breath from my lungs, makes my fingers claw at the sheets.

His cock drives into that spot so deep it makes my vision flicker.

"Phi—!" I scream

And then, his hand.

Wrapped around the column of my throat as he drags me up, back against his chest, into the brutal rhythm of his hips. I can feel him in places I shouldn't.

I sob again, wrecked, trembling.

"Look at you," he breathes, voice cracking with awe and hunger. "Shaking for me. Crying for me. Still taking me."

I'm gasping. Falling apart. My cock leaking, untouched. My body trembling with the force of him. And I want more. I want all of it.

He presses his lips to the curve of my neck, and his voice—his voice breaks me.

"They tried to kill us," he whispers. "Now I'm gonna make you forget anyone else exists but me."

And in that moment, I do.

I forget everything. Everything but the man who owns my heart, my body, my name.

We were shot at tonight. We killed them. I watched him, deadly and beautiful, paint the night red for me and now he's painting me with the same madness.

His hips slam into me, each thrust dragging a helpless scream from my raw throat. My body rocks forward with every brutal snap of his hips, but he doesn't let me crawl away. He never does.

"You want me to fuck you like you're mine to destroy."

I whimper.

"Because I am the only one," he growls, voice thick and brutal. "The only one who has the right—the power—to break you."

He drags me up by the neck. My back slams against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside me, grinding against every swollen, overstretched nerve. His breath is hot against my ear, his voice laced with cruel devotion and quiet awe.

"A bullet grazed you tonight," he whispers, and my whole body shudders. "You didn't cry. Didn't scream. You held a fucking gun steady and killed for me."

His grip on my neck tightens, not choking—just enough to make me feel the weight of his love. The claim.

"But now?" he says, grinding into me, angling up as I arch. "Now you're crying on my cock. Screaming. Falling apart. Over me."

I sob again, helpless. My body spasming from how deep he is. From how much I need him.

"I love you," I whisper, because it's the only thing that fits inside the firestorm of feeling. "I love you so much."

His lips brush my cheek. "I know, baby," he murmurs, and then his hand slides down my stomach.

I don't even flinch when his fingers wrap around my cock. Just moan. Broken. Raw. I can't believe I'm hard again. I came already. I should be done. But he has me like this—used, claimed, worshipped and ruined all at once.

"You're my husband," I say, voice shaking. "My protector."

"And you," he growls, biting the shell of my ear, "are my beautiful little whore."

I whimper, hips twitching.

"We fuck almost every day," he says, stroking my cock with slow, firm pumps. "And you still beg for more. You still cry when I split you open. You still take every inch like it's the first time."

He presses his lips to my jaw.

"I'll never get tired of you like this."

"Look at you," he growls, voice all grit and reverence. "Bent for me. Bruised for me. Dripping for me. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

I nod frantically. Whimper.

"Say it," he snarls, hand gripping tighter, hips slamming forward, dragging a wrecked scream from my chest.

"Yes—yes, Phi, it's what I want—need—fuck—please don't stop—"

"That's right," he bites at my neck, hips moving faster, harder, pushing me forward on the bed. "Gonna fuck you till you cry. Gonna fill you up so good you forget the world tried to touch us."

I do cry. I am crying.

From the stretch. The pain. The love. The goddamn relief of him being here, alive, with me.

His grip on my throat loosens just enough to tip my head back, and he kisses my jaw with such devotion that it shatters me more than anything else has tonight.

"I've got you," he murmurs hoarsely.

Then he thrusts—once, hard, dragging a scream from my throat—and whispers:

"Stroke your cock, baby. Let go again.  Come for me."

"Phi—ngh—Phi, I can't—"

"You will," he snarls, bending low until his chest brushes my back, one arm sliding under me to stroke my spent cock with a slick hand. "You'll come for me again, baby. Give it to me. Give me everything."

And I do.

Again. Harder. Blinding.

And he does too—snarling my name, spilling into me, clutching me like I'm the only thing that's ever mattered.